Watermark
by Lothiriel84
Summary: It had all begun the night after Lisbon almost got shot. - Future fic. Mentions of suicide attempt.


**__****Author's note: **_Written for the Paint It Red March 2013 Monthly Challenge - prompt: "All the words unspoken"._

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**Watermark**

It had all begun the night after Lisbon almost got shot. They were too hyped up to think clearly, and when his lips touched her neck just a few inches below the spot where she'd been grazed by a bullet, she didn't shove him away as the rational part of his brain had hoped she would do.

They sunk onto the office couch, her soft moans enough proof that she was indeed still alive; that he hadn't lost her after all.

He cried silent tears as he made love to her, each of his moves achingly slow. Years of pent-up feelings had eventually found their release, and there was no way they could go back to where they'd started.

Both of them were well aware of the sword of Damocles that was hanging over their heads, but they just didn't care anymore. Given the fact that Red John could decide to kill them at any moment, they might as well make the best of the time that was given to them.

They fell into a tentative relationship, until Lisbon went missing out of the blue; she'd walked out of her apartment one morning, and no one had heard of her ever since. All the team members had immediately taken over the search for their boss, but she had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Jane retreated into the attic, and refused to let anyone in. He felt like a man who'd had his heart ripped away from his chest; the past was repeating itself, or that's how it seemed at the very least.

They all clung to the faint hope that she wasn't dead after all. That she'd been hurt or kidnapped perhaps, but still alive.

Her car was found in the Sacramento River a couple of weeks later. Cho and Rigsby could barely manage to stop him from throwing himself into the water as well.

After that he had a breakdown, only it was for real this time. And there he was now, locked within a white room that resembled so much the one he'd been staying in some ten years ago.

He spent endless days trying to work out whether Lisbon had been killed, or had decided to take her own life instead. Either way, it had to be his own fault.

Van Pelt kept on saying it had been a fatality, and no one was to blame for it.

He just couldn't believe her.

xxx

Bret Stiles went to visit him at length. "Our common friend is worried for you," he said. "He wants to offer his help."

When the only answer he got was that he could go to hell, he took a step forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let's put our cards on the table, Patrick. Red John didn't kill your friend. Agent Lisbon's body has never been found, correct?"

"No," Jane admitted sullenly. There would be no grass growing on Teresa Lisbon's grave, for the ocean had probably claimed her mortal remains by now.

"Then there's still a chance she's alive after all. You've been in a fugue state yourself, how can you be so sure that something of the kind hasn't happened to her as well?"

"You're right. Maybe Red John has brainwashed her, like he did with Kristina."

"Patrick, Patrick. He wouldn't harm a hair on Teresa's head. He's come to love her as much as he loves you, as a matter of fact."

"He seems to be telling you a lot about his own feelings."

A smirk glinted in Stiles' pale blue eyes. "We're very close, you know."

"What does he want from me?"

"Only your friendship. He'd be glad to help you look for the woman you care about in turn."

"Go to hell," Jane said again.

The older gentleman shook his head wistfully and eventually left the room.

xxx

A few days later one of the caretakers found him slumped on the floor, blood gushing from his wrists. Apparently he'd managed to sharpen a spoon somehow.

When he came around again he was in a hospital room, tied up to the bed. The wounds to his wrists hurt like hell, and the pain was so unbearable he felt like throwing up.

A gentle hand rested briefly on his brow. "You never play by the rules, Patrick."

He opened his eyes to meet Bret Stiles' unfathomable gaze. And everything made sense all of a sudden.

"You. It's been you all along."

"As I've said, you're dear to me. You've been chasing me for so long, and now I think I owe you something."

"Tell me what you've done to Lisbon."

"I swear I didn't touch her, my friend. Let me help you find her."

"So that you can kill her? No way. I'm going to kill you instead, you delusional freak."

"Now that's the spirit. See you, Patrick."

Jane had never felt so helpless as he watched his foe slip right through his fingers once again. He cried until a nurse rushed to his room and forced him to gulp down a handful of painkillers.

xxx

Six months later Stiles got arrested on the border with Canada. He smiled and came in quietly, sensing that the game was finally over.

If he'd been waiting for Patrick Jane to come and talk to him again, he got sorely disappointed. The former CBI consultant refused to have any contact with him, preferring to drown his sorrows in a bottle of tequila instead. Well, more than just one bottle, actually.

When Van Pelt showed up at his motel room with the news that the serial killer had finally been executed, he was so drunk he simply couldn't get what she was saying.

Three days later he was debating whether he should empty the bottle of sleeping pills and follow Red John on his way to hell, before a persistent knock at the door came in and interrupted him.

He sighed and went to dismiss the unwanted visitor, only to be struck dumb when he threw open the door.

A very alive Teresa Lisbon was staring back at him from the threshold, an apologetic look written all over her face. She reached to touch him, but he jerked back as if her hand would burn.

"I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Well, you did." He stepped back and tried to close the door.

She didn't allow him. "I can explain."

"Where have you been all the time?"

"London, Ontario. An old family friend has been living there for a while."

"I suppose you couldn't afford telling me," he remarked bitterly. "You knew I was alive when I went off to Vegas at the very least."

"There was a reason I couldn't tell anybody."

"Yeah, right."

Lisbon bit her lip. "He's waiting in the car, if you don't believe me."

"I hope you'll excuse me, but I don't feel like meeting your boyfriend. And now, if you don't mind…"

Jane made to close the door again, but she set her foot firmly in between.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's…"

She swallowed, and he was able to see right through her at last. His head reeled with the unexpected revelation, and in one swift move he joined her outside the door.

"Take me to him, Teresa."

Her hand found his own and she smiled at long last.


End file.
